


We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank

by WittyPenName



Category: Journey into Mystery, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Destruction of Public Property, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, New York City, Past Character Death, fatherly!Tony, kid!loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-03 19:51:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WittyPenName/pseuds/WittyPenName
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes he wonders what would have happened if he’d told Loki way back then, before it haunted his mind, before he’d pushed him away, before the damned god went off and got himself blown up. Then he remembers that it’s no use dwelling on the past, and what’s done is done, and you can’t bring people back from the dead. </p><p>Except, that’s not necessarily true, is it? Because there he is, beating a shuddered and youthful rhythm on the counter with hands that are smaller than Tony remembers. And, although this boy is only thirteen and from Paris, France, he bears a striking resemblance to a man Tony fell in love with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Remainders of A Shooting Star

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfiction I've ever posted, so bear with me. I don't have a beta, so if you see any mistakes, feel free to tell me. I'm doing this for fun, though, so I don't care about time-line accuracies. 
> 
> The chapters will be posted when they come to me, and only if it does well. Enjoy!

This was far too much. 

Tony wasn’t sure he was alright with this, but he had a suspicion that he wasn’t. This wasn’t just too much. This was a mess. One he was obligated to look after, whether others understood it or not. He stared down at the small child before him, frowning deeply. The child stared back with the kind of comprehension only seen on thirty-year-old-men who had lost everything and knew there was nothing to be done for it. 

 

“So, do you… Go to school, or something?” Tony ran his fingers through his dark, tangled locks.

“What would I go to school for?” The boy smirked, watching him from his place at the bar. Tony could only turn away and pour himself a scotch. “It causes you stress, doesn’t it?”

“What does?” The boy was fiddling with something; Tony could see it from the corner of his eye.

“My existence, perhaps?” Yes, there was definitely that. People weren’t supposed to just be dead and then be alive again. Tony was pretty sure that science dictated something along those lines. But then, there was far too much magic in Asgard for science to be very accurate.

“So, what do I call you?” Tony sipped at his scotch, not turning back to face the boy. 

“Should it be very different from my name?” The boy asked. Tony could feel his stare on the back of his head. 

“No. Loki’s fine.” Finally he turned. The boy was on his knees in the stool, sitting up and pulling a bottle closer to examine its label. He had on a peculiar outfit, all green suede and gold trims. There was a ‘V’ adorning his chest, and the crown atop his head, but his face was similar; angular and soft in the same right, big green eyes flicking from the bottle of Vodka to Tony’s face. 

In his past life, he’d been a wrecking ball of deep-seated familial anger and heated writhing passion. Tony knew both sides very well. 

 

Still, fuck-buddies were a long way away from lovers, and children were a long way from being allowed in the Stark Tower suites, and here was this God of Mischief, ruining his rules about both. 

Things would have been so much easier if he’d turned the bleeding and broken god away, three years ago – if he’d called Fury and had him locked up in one of the many super-villain prisons dotting the nation. 

 

The moment he’d locked eyes with the mess of green and black and red (too much red, far too much, everywhere, everywhere) he saw caves in Afghanistan, car batteries and guns, good friends taking their last breath. He couldn’t help dragging him to the couch, cleaning him up, stitching him closed, ignoring the growls and sharp nails and pleas for freedom. 

It took the god two weeks, two miserable weeks, to feel safe enough to let Tony feed him. It didn’t take very long for him to heal, and then he was gone – disappearing as quickly as he’d come. Tony felt empty after that, never sure if he’d done well. 

Six months later, the god was back, and they fell into bed between harsh kisses and fleeting touches. Loki gave no explanations, but Tony understood. There was no love for prodigies with mental trauma; no friendly embrace for those who drowned their woes in booze and wit, and tucked them away between bed sheets with whoever would join them. It wouldn’t be the last time Loki took advantage of Tony’s open-bed policy to vent his frustration.

For a while it was bliss, each taking what they needed and forgetting the nights of passion in the morning. 

Then something strange happened. 

In the darkness, he pressed an ivory body against dark sheets, wrapped himself in long spindly limbs and tugged at curling inky hair, closed his eyes and let himself fall. When morning came, his heart wrenched at the sight of the empty bed and he knew he was in trouble. Tony Stark was not meant to fall in love. 

Tony spent the next three days cooped up in his lab with Bruce, working on a new suit. The doctor was nice enough not to ask what was on his mind. 

 

Sometimes he wonders what would have happened if he’d told Loki way back then, before it haunted his mind, before he’d pushed him away, before the damned god went off and got himself blown up. Then he remembers that it’s no use dwelling on the past, and what’s done is done, and you can’t bring people back from the dead. 

Except, that’s not necessarily true, is it? Because there he is, beating a shuddered and youthful rhythm on the counter with hands that are smaller than Tony remembers. And, although this boy is only thirteen and from Paris, France, he bears a striking resemblance to a man Tony fell in love with. 

And he is obligated to watch over him. He’s obligated to give him a good life, so that, in the future, he won’t be such a broken and crippled mess, with wild emotions and no way to vent except to cause mayhem and destruction. So that, in the future, he won’t fall into bed with people he doesn’t care about because it helps him forget his wasted childhood, and wretched life. 

It doesn’t matter that he knows nothing about children, and that no one will understand why he’s doing it, least of all the people who know who this boy truly is. And maybe he’s not doing it just for the boy. Maybe part of this is some kind of vindication; just to show that Tony Stark would be a better father than Howard Stark ever was, balancing work, and a child, and saving the world. Maybe he’s doing this to feel justified, no matter how selfish it makes his selfless deeds look.

 

The boy is watching him like he’s waiting for a response, and Tony only vaguely remembers hearing his voice. 

“What..?” The boy only smiles, fine with repeating himself. 

“I asked what happened… Who were you? To the last Loki, I mean.” Tony grimaces, he doesn’t quite know how to answer because he doesn’t really know what the answer is. 

“I was…” He looks down at his empty glass, trying to remember when it got that way. “A friend.”

“Don’t lie to me. I can tell, you know. You get these lines between your eyebrows.” He points to his own forehead and Tony has to study him for a moment, remembering creases at the corners of his eyes when he laughed, and thin lips drawn up tight when he was angry. 

“Can you?” He gives him a smile, which isn’t quite a chuckle, but he hasn’t laughed in two and a half years. “No, you’re right, we were never friends.” 

“Then why am I here?” Tony has to think about it for a moment. 

“Because I promised I’d take care of you when you needed me.” He replies. It’s not technically a lie. Sure, he never said it out loud, but the sentiment was there. 

The boy seems to consider it for a moment, then he smiles wide (a real smile, not a devious smirk or a twitching mask) and Tony’s heart skips a beat when he sees the beginnings of little creases in the corners of his eyes.


	2. This Fit Like Clothes Made Out of Wasps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Peps, it’s fine, it’s all good. I got this. How much trouble could a mini-god-thing be? I promise, no rampaging before breakfast, no introducing him to Fury, healthy food… stuff. What do mini-god-things eat?” The genius turned at this point, heading towards the bar.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have; must have seen fit to amble to his room and slip under the covers, still wearing his shoes and watch. He vaguely remembers pouring glass after glass of whiskey or bourbon or rum, but then it’s all a dark swirling mess of memories that don’t fit together. For some reason, Loki’s face is plastered throughout his mind and he has to take a second to remember how to breathe, because that doesn’t make sense. 

Loki is dead. Been dead for two whole years and not a thing to be done for it. 

Similarly, there’s not a thing to be done for his alcoholic habits and lack-of-memory of last night, so he takes a shower, safe in the knowledge that he can’t have done anything too terrible or Pepper would have been on his back like a growth several hours ago. Then again, when he steps out of the shower there she is with a look on her face and a pair of jeans and briefs.

“Whatever it was, I didn’t do it.” It was his natural response at this point. She rolls her pretty eyes, causing Tony to wonder why he let her just slip away from him, and points out towards the living room. The jeans and briefs are a quick business. He tugs them on and ignores the button and zip, following Pepper out into the main room and looking for a mess. 

He looks back at her when he doesn’t find one and she merely points at the couch. 

The whole thing comes back in an uncomfortable wave and he remembers why his mind was so focused on Loki. Because Loki was there, on the couch, all curled up and asleep. He’s still wearing the rather uncomfortable looking outfit, although the shoes and gloves have been shucked away. The crown and cowl were pulled off and tucked ceremoniously on the arm of the couch and the boy’s black hair was messy and unevenly chopped. 

“Tony.” He was distracted again. “Tony, who is he? He’s not your child… Is he?”

“Really, Pepper?” 

“Be honest, Tony. I don’t have time for this.” She gave him the look again. 

“He’s… One of Thor’s brothers. Look at his outfit, Pep. Or have you been seeing Asgardian Chic in outlet stores and not telling me?” 

“One of Thor’s brothers? He’s not going to be any trouble, right? I don’t think I can handle more of that.” She was already shuffling papers and packing up her briefcase. Apparently she’d only come to check on him. “Look, just… How long is going to be here? Does he have any other clothes? What about school and food and… Did you think this through, Tony?”

“Peps, it’s fine, it’s all good. I got this. How much trouble could a mini-god-thing be? I promise, no rampaging before breakfast, no introducing him to Fury, healthy food… stuff. What do mini-god-things eat?” The genius turned at this point, heading towards the bar. 

“Not coffee and liquor.” Was the reply and Tony scoffed half-heartedly. 

“Obviously, Pepper. He’s only… Five, or something.”

“I’m thirteen.” Neither of them had noticed the boy was awake. He sat awkwardly, leaning on one elbow and rubbing his eyes with a small fist. “Although, I’ve been thirteen for an awfully long time… Perhaps I’ll be fourteen soon.”

“Is fourteen too young for coffee and liquor?”

“Tony!” Pepper was on her way to the elevator, glaring at him. “I have to go. You better figure this out, I’ll check in on you later.”

And then she was gone. 

A shame, really. She probably knew enough about children to deal with this, fix the company, and check in on Tony from time to time. Well, maybe not that last one – there were only so few hours in the day and if something must be sacrificed, well, Tony was sure he could learn to deal with less surveillance. 

 

In the meantime, the mini-well-spoken-god-thing’s stomach was growling. Loudly. Tony took the opportunity to raid his own cupboards and found a few packages of instant ramen, some sad fruits and vegetables, and fresh eggs and bacon. He could probably have some better food delivered in a couple of hours, but until then they’d have to settle for breakfast foods. Tony looked at the clock. 

“One-thirty-seven is a good time to have breakfast, right?” It must’ve been a longer night than he’d thought - which meant that Pepper had come over on her lunch break. He’d have to send her flowers. “Alright, eggs and bacon sound good? What am I talking about? You don’t have a choice.” Looking up, he’d found the boy had migrated from the couch to the bar, looking rather disheveled and yawning delicately. 

“Do you have any milkshakes? I am quite fond of them. There is an establishment not too far from Asgardia that sells very high quality milkshakes, as well as Frappes and Malts. I have a feeling that they are all, in fact, the same exact product but are advertised differently, so that they may charge more for something they deem ‘exotic’ or ‘retro’. Alas, I’ve had no time to do proper analysis, so the mystery remains.”

Tony smirked, getting out the eggs and bacon, then skillet. The boy certainly had a mouth on him, as well as a slew of topics that he knew enough about to talk all through their mock breakfast. His favorite topics seemed to be modern television (the best programs were the ones that proved how unintelligent Midgardians were), the internet (and subsequently what immoral things he found there), and his favorite flavors of milkshakes (which would have been a short subject, had he not delved into why he liked them). 

 

By the time they’d finished eating, he was silent. Tony watched him, scared that he was sick or upset or something much worse. 

“Do you… Have to go to the bathroom? What? What’s wrong? Are you dying?” The boy glanced at Tony, then back towards the window he’d been examining. 

“Do they open?”

“Do what open?”

“The windows…” Tony briefly entertained the idea that perhaps he was about to be tossed through them again, this time with less glass hindering the effort, then he considered whether it was possible for a child, god or otherwise, to pick him up and throw him bodily off his skyscraper. 

“Why do you want to know?” 

Loki only shrugged, then pushed his plate forward, thanking Tony for the food.

 

The real problem with having a child in Stark Tower was that Tony wasn’t quite sure how to connect with him. Sure, he could sit the boy down in front of the television and have his life consist of bad cartoons and eventual sloppy romance dramas, but that seemed about as fair as waiting until he was an adult to tell him he was adopted and watching him circle the drain. Still, it was hard enough to figure out what a thirteen year old human did with his spare time. Trying to figure out this little enigma of a reincarnated Godling was like looking at all of his suits and deciding they belonged in a junkyard somewhere; impossible, unwise, and bound to bite him in the ass in the end. 

Loki seemed content to sit on the couch and fiddle with that same something that he’d fiddled with yesterday; a small, black, square something. Closer inspection revealed it to be a well-loved StarkPhone and the boy was currently scrolling through a site called ‘tumblr’. Tony sat behind him and watched for a moment. 

Then, there was a tapping at the window.


	3. Like Trying to Hide the Daylight from the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _‘Alright, Tony. You knew it was going to happen eventually. Just not so soon, you kinda wanted to go out on a beach in Cancun, surrounded by beautiful women, but hey, life’s all about disappointment and if you’re gonna go out, might as well go out talking to a goddamn pigeon with your goddamned mind.'_

The tapping seemed to have gone unnoticed by the boy, but Tony couldn’t ignore it – the sharp beat against thick glass echoing deep into unwanted memories. He followed the noise towards the balcony doors, when it stopped quite suddenly. Peering out at the midday horizon, he noticed a small, black something perched atop the balcony banister. This small, black something was not square, nor was it made of a durable plastic. It was covered in feathers and tilting it’s head in just a way that made it seem like it demanded entrance and wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

“Speaking of windows, don’t open them. Or the doors.” He paused, watching the bird and tilting his head in kind. “Unless, of course, you’re a fan of Hitchcock.” 

“I do not know that reference, although I am researching it forthwith, so that I may prepare a proper response for you.” There was a moment of silence, then; “Aha! Birds! I understand.” 

The boy stood rather abruptly and scampered towards the balcony door. He tugged on the handle before Tony even knew what he was doing, and suddenly there was the loud fluttering of close wings and the sensation that this boy was a lot more trouble than he was worth. Tony had made it half-way to Loki before he ducked down to avoid kamikaze pigeons, swatting over his head as if he thought he could strike it down. 

Looking up, he found the bird perched haughtily on the back of the couch, watching his every move. The boy sat back down and focused on his phone once more; presumably messing about on the internet again, but most importantly; acting like nothing had even happened. 

“Kid. You’re bad at taking orders. I said ‘don’t open the doors or windows’. That… That pigeon behind you? That’s the reason why. It’s probably infested with disease and now it’s sitting on my couch. My really expensive, hard to come by, designer couch.” 

“Ikol’s not infested with disease, nor is he a pigeon. He is a magpie.” The hair on the back of Tony’s neck stood on end. Sure, sometimes he couldn’t be bothered to remember to eat, and sometimes he forgot the names of the women he’d bring to bed, and yeah, he’d ruined his relationships to the two people who ever mattered to him, but Tony Stark was not a dumb man. 

_Ikol? Loki?_ Definitely not a coincidence. 

“So… Ikol, huh? Mean anything specific in Ye Olde Norse?” The boy shrugged, staring at the small screen. That couldn’t be good for his eyes. He’d get him a laptop or tablet to mess around with. Limited internet access. Didn’t want him learning anything… _Unseemly._

“Kinda funny how it’s your name spelled backwards.” Ah, now that got his attention. The boy’s thumb stopped, then twitched, then scrolled again. 

“Just a lack of imagination, I suppose. I couldn’t think of anything else.” Tony smirked and turned towards the bar and suddenly the bird was there, glaring at him. Well, as much as a bird could glare. Tony was tempted to hit it with a newspaper or shoo it away, but it probably would’ve just pecked him to death.

_‘I would, indeed.’_ thought the bird. 

_‘Well, fuck.’_ thought Tony. “Kid. It’s… Kid, it’s talking. Your bird is talking.”

“Yes,” was the reply, “he does that.”

_‘Stop your incessant chatter. You cannot tell me you didn’t suspect…’_ thought the bird.

_‘Alright, Tony. You knew it was going to happen eventually. Just not so soon, you kinda wanted to go out on a beach in Cancun, surrounded by beautiful women, but hey, life’s all about disappointment and if you’re gonna go out, might as well go out talking to a goddamn pigeon-‘_

_‘Magpie.’_

_‘-with your goddamned mind. Let’s be honest, Tony, you really haven’t been all there these last couple of months and now there’s a reincarnation of your fuck buddy sitting on the couch being all of nine years old-‘_

_‘Thirteen.’_

_‘-and what did you really expect, hm? That if you kept going on in this pattern that things were gonna start making more sense? Because that was dumb. That was the dumbest thing you’ve ever done and you have done a literal fuck-ton of dumb things. Goddamn. Goddamn that is a talking bird. That is a talking bird that sounds a hell of a lot like your very dead fuck-buddy.’_

_‘Was that all I was to you?’_ Tony could only stare at the bird. The bird could only stare back. _‘We need to talk, Stark.’_

Tony sat at the bar, watching the bird with wide eyes. Everything about this was a mess. First some kid shows up, claiming to be a dead guy, and then some bird shows up who sounds like the same dead guy. He wasn’t even sure he wanted answers, because, honestly, the answers were probably messy too. The bird went on and gave them, though, like the know-it-all he always was. 

_‘I understand you are confused, Stark, so I will do my best to sort things out for you. It would help if there were no interruptions on your part. First of all, the boy over there is, in fact, Loki. Rather, all that remains of him. Obviously you witnessed his death, yourself, and can account for the fact that he was quite thoroughly dead-‘_

_‘Now, don’t get me wrong, you’re making a lot of sense for a talking bird, but you’re not making any goddamn sense.’_ Tony turned away from the beast and went about putting on a pot of very strong coffee. He was going to need it to get through this.

_‘No interruptions! This is important! Now, what you didn’t know was that, prior to his death, Loki played host to a deal between Hela and Mephisto. Upon striking that deal, another was also struck – that Loki’s name would be stricken from the books of the dead. Thus, when he died, his soul was not consumed by any Hell-Space and was able to form a new body.’_ The bird pointed its beak at the boy. 

_‘So, what about you, then?’_ Tony couldn’t help himself.

_‘I was getting to that. I am a fragment of the former Loki’s soul. The boy has asked me to help him, thus I remain.’_

_‘You’re being awfully helpful.’_

_‘I’m telling you what you need to know. The boy has latched onto you. No one’s really ever taken an interest in him before, so it was only natural that he wishes to stay near you. Why are you doing this, by the way? You owe no such obligation to me.’_

_‘One; why do I need to know this? And two…. No, just answer one first.’_ Tony was getting agitated. He poured a large cup of coffee and sipped at it, ignoring the burning sensation against his lips and throat.

_‘Answer my question, Stark.’_

Tony didn’t answer. He didn’t answer when he chugged down his coffee, nor did he answer when he poured a second cup. Finally, he turned back, looking the bird in its beady little eye.

_‘Because. Because, somewhere down the line, I felt more for you than I should have. Because there was a huge chunk of me missing when you got yourself killed. Because he deserves more than you got and I won’t let him make the same mistakes that you did – I won’t let him have your shitty life.’_

The bird chuckled. It was an odd sensation. 

_‘That’s all I ask, Stark.’_

 

Life went on. It was certainly different from before, but that couldn’t be helped. Tony got the boy a laptop, which he immediately learned the secrets of and began using quite often. Eventually he explained to him why he should keep a low-profile online, not using such incriminating screen names and bragging about being a god that should be dead or locked up, depending on who you asked (“What’s wrong with ‘godlingofmischief’?” “We discussed being less obvious.”). The boy refused to change his tumblr, saying it ‘could be construed as an R.P. blog’, whatever that was.

Still, it was as peaceful as it was going to get around the tower. The boy was easily preoccupied by books or the internet, and seemed to be able to fend for himself (provided there was actually food in the house), and Tony was able to work without really having to worry about him. He’d fixed up one of the guest bedrooms and bought some smallish clothes and Loki had settled right in. 

 

Then again, things were hardly peaceful for long in Tony’s life.


	4. We Were Never Invisible, But That I Guess We Didn't See.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was JARVIS who noticed the projectile and accurately predicted its subsequent destruction of the park. Tony had just enough time to run and grab the boy around the waist, darting behind a tree, before there was a flash of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should all know that I have never been to New York City.

Ahh, the park. The good old park. That’s where you brought annoying hyperactive kids when you wanted them to use up all their energy. This was a good decision. Loki would amble over and play on the swings or go down the slide or meet some other kids and play tag. And Tony? Tony would get some work done on his tablet and maybe flirt with some hot moms. This was a really, really good decision. 

Right? 

The problem with the park was that there wasn’t any ambling or swinging or sliding or tag occurring. Well, involving Loki, at least. No, Loki was sat rather firmly next to Tony, scowling. His whole body was turned away from Tony and his arms were crossed over his chest. 

“What’s up, kid?” Tony asked, his attention mostly on fixing the specs on the Hulk-Buster suit, “Not a fan of parks?”

“I am not conversing with you until you return my tunics.” Ah, that’s right. 

Tony had gone out and bought him some new clothes – band t-shirts, sweaters, jeans, and a few crisp green button-downs and slacks for special occasions. Right off the bat, the boy refused to wear the band tees, exclaiming them to be ugly and ‘propaganda for the wretched mortals who enjoy screaming at others and charging money for it’. Tony tried to explain that the button-downs were only for the stuffy events that Pepper forced them to go to, and that if he wanted to get dirty he should wear the tees. Tees were made for getting messy. (He may have also insinuated that Loki would likely get very dirty, being a thirteen year old, to which Loki replied that he would get equally dirty in the button-downs, regardless of the situation he was wearing it in, just to spite him).

In response to all of this, Tony decided to hide the button-downs and slacks, as well as his original Asgardian-Chic clothes, leaving him only the band tees and jeans to choose from. The boy was not pleased and was currently taking his frustration out by carving runes into the seat of the park bench. 

Honestly, how could he possibly sulk in a kid-sized Dark Side of the Moon t-shirt? 

“Why don’t you go play on the slide or something?”

Loki gave him a look he could only have learned from Pepper – the look that said ‘For a genius, you’re awfully dumb.’

“Fine. No slides. Just sit there and scribble –what does that even say? No, I don’t care.” The boy sighed and stood, looking pointedly back at Tony when he sat on one of the swings. The genius only chuckled quietly in response, turning his attention back to the specs and flipping through the layers. 

 

It was JARVIS who noticed the projectile and accurately predicted its subsequent destruction of the park. Tony had just enough time to run and grab the boy around the waist, darting behind a tree, before there was a flash of light. After a moment everything settled. Loki was curled up on Tony’s chest, clutching at his shirt and shaking minutely and it took a minute or so for the genius to sit up, the wind having been knocked out of him. There wasn’t as much debris as he’d thought there would be, and the kids that had previously inhabited the park were bruised and battered, but otherwise unharmed. 

“JARVIS,” The boy jumped a little at the sound of Tony’s voice, “I need you to do a scan of the area. What kind of hostiles am I dealing with? Oh, and send the suit over, if you could.” One arm was held up; out from behind the cover of the tree, his phone camera scanning over the rubble. The other was a protective shield over the boy’s back. 

“You alright, there, squirt?” He looked down at the mess of black hair and lanky limbs that was still clutching at his shirt. Loki nodded; still not showing his face and Tony couldn’t help but rub his back, trying to comfort him. 

“Sir,” a calm and collected British voice echoed back to him, “There appears to be four Chitauri soldiers in the park –“

“That would explain the explosion… What the hell? Chitauri? Really?”

“They are armed and searching, sir. Perhaps it would be a good time to leave?”

“ETA on the suit?”

“Roughly fourteen minutes, sir.” 

“Damn.” He knew he didn’t really have a choice. They were sitting ducks out there. “Call in for back-up. Tell them I’m heading towards Grand Central.” 

Scooping Loki up, he darted towards the entrance of the park, hoping the Chitauri didn’t notice him. In all likelihood, they were there for revenge – revenge he really didn’t have the time for right now. He held Loki against his chest and ran out onto West 42nd, getting close to 5th. 

The screeching of the Chitauri told him he was being pursued.

The boy started squirming against him, causing him to stumble a few times. Finally, he was forced to put him down – both of them still running away from the cluster of alien foot-soldiers that seemed to want them dead. Loki merely grabbed his hand and tugged him down 5th, as if he knew something Tony didn’t. Truthfully, he probably did, so Tony didn’t fight it.

‘I am Iron Man’ started emanating loudly from Tony’s cell, still clenched tightly in his fist. When it registered, he hurriedly flicked the screen and answered with a gruff “Hey, kinda busy being chased by Chitauri, can it wait?”

Clint was on the other line, “I thought we killed all of them…”

“I have never been so happy to hear a bird in my life. Clint, I need you.” They darted down an alley, coming face-to-face with a solid brick wall. The boy gave his hand a little squeeze. 

“Need me? Well, don’t I feel special… So, what would you get me if I saved your ass right now?” There were Chitauri blocking the entrance. Tony pushed the boy behind his back, watching each one, warily. For some reason they weren’t attacking quite yet, talking amongst themselves in their bizarre clicking language. 

“You know that diamond tennis bracelet you’ve been eyeing? All yours.” The Chitauri were moving closer with each second, their guns trained on Tony’s chest. 

“It’s not even our anniversary!” Another step and Loki’s back was against the wall. They had nowhere to run now. 

The first arrow struck one of the aliens in the temple, felling it almost instantly. There was a second that struck one in the back, sending an electric current through its body and toppling it over in a messy heap. The fire escape was lowered rather swiftly onto the third, and there was Natasha, beckoning them over.

“Two seconds later and I would’ve been fried. Cutting it a little close, don’t you think?” He threw Loki over his shoulder and started climbing. Natasha gave him a confused look.

“Should I ask about the kid?”

“Probably not now.” He muttered, running past and climbing the next set of stairs. “Chitauri first, questions later, deal?”

 

The rest of the Chitauri were quick business. Nat and Clint took care of most of them, while Steve went back to the park and checked out the mess, and Agent Hill harassed Tony to fill out multiple accident reports and have them sent to her immediately. In the meantime, Loki sat silently next to him, playing some bird game on his cell and ignoring the many questioning glances in his direction. 

It wasn’t until well after eleven that they finally stepped into the suites atop Stark Tower, two SHIELD assassins and one very tired Captain in tow. Loki had gotten tired around Madison Ave and was now clinging to Tony’s back, half-asleep. 

He let him down on the couch and headed into the kitchen to make him a sandwich. He didn’t even notice the stares until he was half-way done. 

“What? What are you staring at?”

“Are you making a sandwich..?” Steve asked. He looked about two steps away from checking Tony’s temperature and forcing him to take medicine. 

“Why, you want one?” They only seemed to get more concerned. “Look, it’s… It was a joke. I’m not making you a sandwich. He hasn’t had anything since noon. Thought I’d give him some dinner.”

“He’s already unconscious.” That was Clint, who was now leaning on the back of the couch, staring at the slumbering Godling. “And he looks familiar…”

“Yeah, he’s one of Thor’s so-and-sos. God… Things.” Tony put the sandwich supplies away and pushed the plate towards Steve. “I’m babysitting.” 

Natasha glared at him, her nostrils flaring. 

“What? I’m a good babysitter. See? He’s fine. No broken bones, well-fed, nice clothes.”

“I know who that is, Tony. And you’re going to sit down and tell me exactly why I shouldn’t bring him to Fury.”


	5. You Gave Me Some Sound Advice, But I Wasn't Listening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hello.” The boy had said. Tony thought he could hear the cursive out loud, although that might’ve been the scotch.
> 
> The boy had been very sweet. He’d made a pot of coffee, explaining that it would ‘dredge the wicked substance from his blood’ so that they could speak. When he deemed Tony sober enough, he’d shown him his cell phone and said that it was acting peculiar. Tony wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh and shout and cry and drink. He did none of these things, however, and instead took the phone and fiddled with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been very delayed. I had some trouble ending it, and took time away to work on other things. I'm not entirely in love with this chapter, but I've been considering doing a complete overhaul anyway. We shall see. 
> 
> In the meantime, I've made a Kid!Loki tumblr account in my boredom. The user name hidden somewhere is in this fanfiction. It should be pretty obvious, so if you find it, you should follow me in reward.

It was almost like they were a real family, all sitting down and sipping coffee – remembering the good ol’ days and laughing about the not-so-good. It was almost pleasant and lively. 

Except no one was laughing or really talking and they all had bruises and cuts from the battle with the Chitauri and Clint was definitely more hovering around the couch than sitting and there was one special case of glaring going on in Natasha’s general direction; so really it was a lot more like a real family. At least, any family Tony could think of. 

The kid was still conked out on the couch, sleeping rather heavily, which was probably good for him considering the waves of anger emanating from Nat. He turned to look at her and instantly regretted it. She really did know who that was; he could tell from the hand that was twitching like it was ready to snatch up the gun in her thigh holster and shoot at the smallest of movements. It wouldn’t be wise to mess around right now.

“Look, Nat, I know you’re not happy, but at least give me a chance to explain.” He started, holding his hands up in a defensive position. “Will you give me that?”  
“I don’t like this.” She replied, “Better make it quick.”

“Explain what? Who is that, Tony?” Bruce looked at the small boy, then back to Tony. His confused expression was mirrored on Steve and Clint. They likely wouldn’t take it well. 

“Well, I guess, after the explosion… thing... He, uh.. Well he came back.” Nat gave him a look. He’d been seeing a lot of this look lately. He wondered if it would become another trigger. “Ok, Ok. He had this deal with someone – Hela, I think? – that he couldn’t, y’know, kick the bucket. Mostly. I mean, he’s alive but he’s not, him, right? Anyway, Thor found him in France with no memory and bluh, bluh, bluh, now he’s here. The End.” Except he’d have to explain it a lot better than that, because Clint was catching on now, and he was doing that shaking thing he does when he remembers. 

“OK, everyone sit, it’s story time.” Steve was still lost and so was Bruce. Nat and Clint were two steps from murdering a thirteen year old and Tony was going to have their full, undivided attention for this, whether they liked it or not. Slowly they congregated around the table, Nat and Clint keeping an eye on the kid from afar. “So, it happened like this…”

_______

 

It all started about two months ago, when Thor had gone to France for a reason he decided not to divulge to the others. ‘There’s something I must see,’ was all he’d say on the matter and the Avengers decided not to delve. In truth, his journey to France was spurred by his apparent ability to bring Loki’s soul forth from wherever it had drifted post-death. 

There he’d found a thirteen year old boy named Serrure, with bright green eyes and a penchant for mischief. 

He’d given him some memories back, but nothing of magic or chaos. He thought he could give him a second chance. In the ruins of Asgardia, the others spurned the boy; called him names; pushed him about. It was not the safe-haven Thor had intended it to be and Loki had taken to hiding in his tower room, reading the day away. After a couple incidents (mostly involving giant snakes), Loki had taken it upon himself to travel away from Asgardia. 

Sometime later, Tony had awoken to the sound of very close thunder. He was half-asleep when Thor showed up on his balcony, fretting about a small child that had disappeared. It took some coercing for him to finally explain what happened and who the boy was.

It was a lot to take in. He couldn’t say that he’d ever gotten over Loki’s death and now he was back – a reincarnation that Thor would likely bring with him to the tower or on missions, one that Tony would have to see and talk to and remember. He felt his heart breaking all over again and the only response he could think of was to drink it away. He was half-way through his scotch, Thor having left to continue his search, when there was the dinging noise of the elevator reaching his floor.  
It was almost four in the morning. Pepper would never visit at this time of night, unless he was doing something wrong. But it wasn’t Pepper that stepped out of the elevator. It was a young boy in a green tunic. He had a little crown atop his head, a Stark phone in one hand, and his green eyes were staring right at him. 

“Hello.” The boy had said. Tony thought he could hear the cursive out loud, although that might’ve been the scotch.

The boy had been very sweet. He’d made a pot of coffee, explaining that it would ‘dredge the wicked substance from his blood’ so that they could speak. When he deemed Tony sober enough, he’d shown him his cell phone and said that it was acting peculiar. Tony wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh and shout and cry and drink. He did none of these things, however, and instead took the phone and fiddled with it. 

“It’s kinda an old model. Maybe you should think about an upgrade.” He’d told him, to which the boy replied; 

“I have been grounded from the use of Asgardia’s gold temporarily.” Tony did laugh at this, perhaps because the craziness of all of this had finally caught up with him. The boy only tilted his head. 

“Can I ask you something?” the boy nodded, staring at his phone, “Do you remember me? At all?”

He smiled as he looked up, and Tony’s heart wrenched a little. “No, but I had a feeling we had met. I’m glad to know I was right.” 

_________

Tony didn’t explain everything to them; just what he considered the important stuff. By the end, half of them were fidgeting and the other half were glaring holes into his head. 

“So, any questions?”

“That’s Loki. That child… That child is the god of mischief. He’s Loki.” 

“Yes, Clint, we’ve established that, quite thoroughly, I thought.” Clint stood, his hands clenched and his muscles tense. Tony knew that look. It was the look of a hawk about to swoop in and break its prey’s neck. Luckily, Tasha knew that look, too, reaching out to grab his arm and slow him down. 

“But he—“ 

She shook her head and that was the end of it. Despite everything Loki had done, at this point in time he was an innocent child. Tony blithely wondered if she had more mothering instinct that he initially gave her credit for. 

“Look, I should’ve told you earlier. I’m not even sure what stopped me. But he’s here now.” Tony spoke, unsure of how to stop his own chattering, “And, honestly, I kinda like having him here. He’s like a little, mini, unsocial prodigy with daddy issues and a penchant for mischief.”

“So, a mini-you, then?” Bruce interjected. 

“Precisely.” 

“We really don’t need another you, Tony. And we definitely don’t need Chitauri attacking us.” Steve moved over to them, crossing his arms like the little old man that he was. Tony scoffed.

“What does that have to do with him?” All eyes turned to him with the same look of disbelief. 

“Well, the Chitauri attacked because of him last time.” Steve continued.

“So you think they’re following the orders of a thirteen year old.”

“I’m saying it’s kind of hard to tell how old a shape-shifter actually is.” 

Tony frowned. He really didn’t want to agree with Steve – especially not about this – but how do you explain to a bunch of superheroes that you could tell when he was telling the truth. How do you tell them that lies fell from his lips like silk, and that after spending hundreds of nights together, you knew what that tasted like? All he had were his words, and his words had never garnered much attention. Only his actions stood out. 

With this in mind, Tony ignored Steve’s words and walked past all of them. He scooped the boy up in his arms and turned back. 

“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” He smiled, “I have to get the munchkin into bed.”


End file.
